


Operation: Young Again

by bastardmanvibes



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, aw isnt that a sweet tag, this is a weedfic make no mistake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bastardmanvibes/pseuds/bastardmanvibes
Summary: Charlie Mac and Dennis get stoned and go to the movies, but Dennis is feeling weird. Mac is there to help him out of a jam :)
Relationships: Mac McDonald/Dennis Reynolds
Comments: 7
Kudos: 51





	Operation: Young Again

**Author's Note:**

> god yeah hi i wrote this really fast, and that's unlike me. tried to get it done before the month of 420 was over, oops. based off a headcanon that i came up with at bastardmanvibes.tumblr.com. also follow its-always-philly-in-sunidelphia bc they egged me on. ha, egg. sunglasses emoji. im wicked cool. anyways, this fic is very self-indulgent. sorry. first half is just charmacden smoking basically and the second half is dennis having a Time. enjoy.

This was stupid. But that was the goal.

Dennis looked out the windshield, his fingers tapping the steering wheel.

“Hey, how long does it goddamn take?” he snapped at Charlie, sat in the backseat, “I don’t remember it ever taking this long. And you better have washed your hands. Mac—I told you, pipes are fine, pipes work great, why must you,” he heaved an obnoxious sigh, “always insist upon something fancy?”

“Coooool it, man. I sense some impatience in your tone,” Charlie cautioned back. “You want the vibes to be right tonight, or what, dude?”

His passenger wasn’t any help, of course. “We want chill vibes, Dennis. Young people are chill. Also, I don’t think a joint is considered fancy.”

For the sake of camaraderie, he rolled with what they were preaching, albeit through gritted teeth, “I’m chill, I’m chill. I can be chill. You’re right—I’m just a little _impatient,_ is all.” He took a breath, and it reached deeper than expected, to the bottom of his lungs.

The faster he could let all his shit go, the better.

This all started because he found a gray hair, of course. A cluster of hairs, to be accurate, right above his ear, small, but extremely visible. How they managed to grow so prominently without him noticing was a mystery, and a very concerning one at that.

But Mac knew him well. Thankfully, he’d been hitting a lot more than missing lately when it came to knowing how to take care of him. One more borderline sensual hair-dying session later, and Dennis... still wasn’t feeling any better, actually.

To be fair, again, it was a whole entire cluster, colored gray, which was the color of death, mind you, right above his ear. Right there.

It was a fuzzy piece of mold on a once ripe and decadent fruit. To put it one way, Dennis was worried that he wasn’t very juicy anymore, and it didn’t help that he and Mac had developed a rather sedentary routine as of late, what with the tea, and the bedtimes, and the walks down memory lane.

They were on memory lane right now, for instance, the three of them preparing to hotbox the Range Rover like they used to. Charlie, Mac, and Dennis were no strangers to a drunken 3am rap sesh over a couple blunts, but yeah, it had been a while, because they were mostly drinkers to put it… bluntly.

The plan was to see a movie, nay, to have their minds blown by a movie, to break the law, and to be as juvenile as possible. Late at night was the only good time for it, so here they were in the cinema parking lot, up past their bedtime.

Mac called the make-Dennis-feel-better-about-his-dwindling-mortality scheme Operation: Young Again. Like previously implied, it simply constituted acts of brainless delinquency, but he appreciated that Mac was trying to help, so he let him. Yesterday they smashed mailboxes and threw beer bottles off the roof of Paddy’s. Although watching them shrink to the ground and explode was enjoyable, it just felt stupid, as predicted, until they all got super drunk that is, and then it was completely enjoyable actually. Charlie was right about the vibes, thing, though, they had to be right for this to work, because this so-called “scheme” was about feelings—getting rid of them, to be more specific.

Anxiety happened to be the predominant feeling, by the way.

“Dennis,” Mac said quite seriously, under his breath. He grasped onto his forearm which was still connected to the wheel. He blurted his words one sentence at a time, “Are you sure? Like a hundred percent? It’s not too late to back out.”

Charlie flicked a lighter and disagreed, “No, yeah, it is, actually.”

Dennis turned around to watch him unceremoniously take the ceremonious first hit. He got onto him, “Do you know where you’re going to ash that? Think before you spark, Charlie! I’ll have you know—these seats? Finest pleather money can buy.”

Holding in the smoke, Charlie shot him a dirty look, a shrug, and an eye-roll that he probably didn’t think he’d pick up on.

He opened his mouth to scold him again when he caught Mac’s stare. It was brief, caring and cautious, before it was broken by him frantically rummaging around on the floor for a piece of trash. Mac conjured a discarded bag of chips, the kind that _he_ liked of course, and held it up in triumph. “Got it, Dennis! Just use this.”

It was made obvious by the annoying overuse of his name that he was coddling him, but if one thing should have been clear, it’s that Dennis did not need coddling.

Demanding the joint with a flick of his hand, he was determined to achieve the proper ambiance. He respected his friends, so he would respect the ritual. He snatched the empty chip-bag from Mac and shot him a devious look. “Gentlemen,” he stoically declared, “Tonight, we vibe.” Maintaining chill was essential. Already, he’d racked up a few high-strung strikes, he was fully aware of that, so he was eager to get blitzed off his ass.

Mac watched him intently as he pulled in the first hit in what felt like forever. Weed hadn’t been their go-to since high school, and to be honest, he and Mac were just pretty bad at it.

And lo, Dennis was wincing and coughing and shoving the joint into his hand.

God, it burned. In a good way, though, in a good way. It was a burn that kicked up memories of school bleachers, Charlie’s childhood bedroom, and later, the basement of the bar and the apartment in the middle of the night. Anger could really take hold of him at times, so there were many occasions where Mac would insist upon sparking up when Dennis came home from a hot bout of road rage, for instance, or after a botched scheme. It was about emotion, either getting rid of them or enhancing them. In fact, they were both pretty baked the first time Mac massaged his pecs. They just didn’t care, as long as it felt good. They chased whatever highs they could, sometimes.

And reminiscing felt good, but really, he wanted to go there, to go back. Shit felt like shit these days, heavy shit, too, and back then, years ago, shit just felt like life.

Mac was coughing now, harder than him. Dennis was happy to hear him sputter and wheeze, not only because he was thankful he wasn’t the only one, but because it was reliable. Mac coughed every time, and he liked knowing what to expect from him.

Brushing the dust off his usual old excuse, tried and true, he managed to croak, “Coughing gets you higher, you know.”

Meanwhile, Charlie could pack hits away no problem. The air in the car was becoming thicker, the smoke impossible to escape.

If he wasn’t already high, Dennis would be mad about the awful smell that would perpetuate in his car for a week after this. Charlie and Mac were a couple of morons. He couldn’t believe he used to let them do this all the time, but as soon as that thought crossed his mind, he just felt old again. If he can’t enjoy this, he might as well check himself into a nursing home.

He could feel his heart lubbing and dubbing as he peered out the window to scan the area. Obviously, now was a bad time for him to remember his rocky history with combining weed and public places. His eyes felt like honey, his thought processes already starting to unravel. Emotions were hard to wrangle. One time, ages ago, they went to Dave n Busters like this, and Dennis melted into a temper tantrum since Mac was glued to the Dance Dance Revolution machine instead of him. Eyes and lights trying to pry their way into his soul at every turn didn’t help the mounting dread and threat of abandonment, either. And God, the buzzers. Man, fuck arcades.

Although excuses were aplenty, it was still fucking embarrassing, so tonight he would be keen on avoiding an episode altogether.

A movie is so damn doable. Dennis started to calculate the quickest and easiest route into the safe, dark theater, before he was too stoned to focus, that is, when Charlie’s high pitched voice made him jump, “Yo, Earth to Den-bot.”

Jerking his torso back to face him, his vision swirled, or maybe it was just the idle smoke that was stirring around.

He closed his eyes and insisted, “I was just vibing. Is a man not allowed to vibe?” The words weren’t even his. Should’ve never let Charlie’s recently incessant use of the word “vibe” rub off on him. Also, had they been talking? Jesus, and he was only one hit in.

Mac supported him, “See, Charlie, he was just vibin’.”

Dennis took the joint from Charlie, and asked Mac, “You got the tickets on you still, right?” He embodied poise and chill as he took another drag, and this time when the smoke struck his lungs, he savored it properly. A fresh breath of air packed it in deeper.

Mac answered him with a forced tone of reassurance, “Got ‘em, Dennis. There is absolutely, positively nothing to worry about. This is _funnn_ n’ _chillll,”_ he sang, “and nothing’s gonna happen, just like old times, right? I don’t know about you, but I'm already feelin' like I’m twelve again.”

He released the hit once he couldn’t stand the burn anymore, and felt the effects immediately. His brain was being pushed through a thick molasses. Stuff mattered less as the air became thicker.

“Twelve?” he questioned and passed the torch over. It also felt like a torch of responsibility, as in, “Mac, you better fuckin’ take care of me tonight, or I swear to God.” It was unspoken, of course, like many things between the two of them were. All that was needed was a look.

Mac’s face screwed into a strain when he brought it to his lips, having to vigorously nod in response. “Watch, look,” he managed to say, his body convulsing a bit as he struggled to hold it in. He exhaled a pathetic plume and boasted, “I’m a dragon,” before collapsing into another violent cough.

Dennis was starting to regret his decisions.

At least Charlie found it funny. Hilarious, actually. A classic Charlie cackle made the entire car shake, maybe, probably. Lines were becoming blurry to match the car’s interior.

He was eager to snatch the joint to take a long hit, just to show off. Smoke spilling from his mouth, he said, “Well if you’re a dragon, I’m a dinosaur,” before releasing a huge plume.

Dennis couldn’t find a need to correct him. He didn’t find a need for a lot of his performative, energy-wasting bullshit, actually, now that he was high as shit, so he shared a thought, instead.

“My bones should be in a museum,” he sniffed.

He should live forever. Humanity deserved to look at him. He wished he could preserve himself, somehow.

Through a laugh, Mac posited, “I think I wanna sell my body to science, right? Okay—but check it—not for nerd shit. I’m gonna request they preserve my dick. And they have to do it, ‘cause it’s a dead man’s wish, okay, I know, I read about it. So. Dick of the future. I want futuristic, alien himbos studying my dick long after I’ve moved on.”

That hit Dennis right in the giggles. It started off as a snicker, but as he thought about it more, his laugh crescendo-ed to match the ridiculousness of what Mac just said. He almost forgot what he sounded like when he laughed that hard. It was pretty high pitched. Another thought hit him, and his face sunk into a ponder, mouth open and everything. He asked, “What’s a himbo?”

What followed was an enlightening conversation that then meandered from stupid topic to stupid topic. Dennis kicked himself for not always seeing the effortless hilarity of how dumb his friends were. Shit was a goldmine. Charlie ate the roach and preached that eating the weed got you high, too, which was another reliable comfort, as baffling as it was.

For a little while, whaddaya know, they were 23 again.

Outside was cold compared to the safety of the hotbox.

The empty parking lot was so dark, so vast. It was like the three of them were bumbling astronauts on a remote, deserted planet. Smoke spilled from their rocket ship as Dennis scanned the area for aliens—people, for people.

It was apparent to him now that he had definitely smoked past his limit. Just sitting there in the fog for several minutes would have been enough, probably. His eyelids were like freakin’ anvils, man.

What was the goddamn goal? He placed his hands on his hips, taking in the feeling. Narrowing his eyes until they were almost shut, he tried to remember.

Heavy, pattering footsteps grew and shrank in volume. The tiny neon sign in the distance was a fuzzy beacon, the cloudy sky was a scrolling tapestry, and the rough asfalt beneath his shoes kept him from sinking to the core of the Earth. Everything was dreamlike, the only thing mattering now being the coveted vibes. Ah—that was it, the goal—the vibes.

He smacked his lips. His tongue felt weird, so he stuck it out.

It was a young feeling, he thought. They were onto something.

Mac’s hand was on his shoulder, and it was the best kind of weight. He had no idea how long it had been there. “Dude,” he chuckled, and read his mind, “I am so high right now.”

He looked it, to put it mildly, as Mac could never hide anything. He outstretched his arms, all of his fingers extended in front of him. “Also, I am _so glad_ God gave me ten fingers. You know some people have less than ten fingers?” He spat a laugh, finding the prospect ridiculous. “Think they have a hard time jerking it?”

“Some people have more than ten fingers…” he slowly replied, his eyes still tethered to the beacon.

“Dennis,” he said sternly. Without warning, he grabbed his shoulders and forced him to look at him. His feet clamored to keep balance, his eyes focused onto Mac’s, and for a moment, they were the only two spacemen on this expedition. In this state, Dennis didn’t bother to ward off thoughts like, “Wow, my mouth is dry.” Nope. Wait. The thought was, “Wow, Mac’s lips look soft.” Slowly but surely, the two of them were finding their footing and learning how to relax with each other again, and they were almost all the way there, he was pretty sure. He was glad about it, so he grinned. This was a bro bonding experience, and they were taking advantage of it marvelously. Mac told him with severity, “I want more fingers so I can jerk off better.”

It was funny, but Dennis didn’t laugh since he was too busy studying the veins in his eyes. He can’t do everything at once, people. One eye shone in the moonlight, the other one made dim by Dennis’ shadow resting on him. Both looked high as shit. How many hours had he sunk into this guy's face over the years? Eh, at least it was a good face. “Your technique is fine as it is, though.” He noticed that his mouth was ajar, so he closed it. Now was not the time to think about Mac’s dick, probably.

Charlie, the owner of countless pattering footsteps, came barreling towards them at full speed, flanking in wide. He screeched to a halt in front of them, spread his feet far apart, and panted, “I think I’m faster than a horse.”

Mac gasped for his buddy, “Yay!”

Okay, now Dennis definitely had to burst into laughter.

“Also. Movie’s soon. Hop on, and we can probably still make it.” He jumped, did a 180, and doubled over so they could climb aboard his back, “C’mon! Ya!”

Dennis grabbed Mac’s hand, because he wanted to. Didn’t feel like a big deal.

Mac looked at him and beamed, because indeed, it wasn’t.

“Lead the way,” Dennis told him, but didn’t hear his voice come out of his mouth. Telepathy came in handy again.

He didn’t feel like he was walking, he felt like the movie theatre and the small crowd inside of it were slowly crawling towards him.

He wanted things to be right, but they weren’t. He could literally feel his intestines worming around inside of him.

Honesty was easier like this. Back to feeling utterly elderly, he gripped Mac’s hand tighter and said, “This is stupid.”

Charlie was galloping around in zig zags. The kid had so much energy, for a 43 year-old stoner.

“I’m gonna need you to fight that negativity, dude, for vibes’ sake,” Mac replied. He tried whispering in his ear, but his words just came out raspy at normal volume, “Relax, I said I got you.”

The entrance crept up on them out of seemingly nowhere. Bright oranges and blues pounded their way into Dennis’ corneas, taking up a huge portion of his sight now. It was pretty, but intimidating. He felt small under them, especially since the sky was so giant. He could hear the neon buzzing in his ear, too.

Then, people. Stirring, buying tickets, being normal. He bet that a good portion of them had their lives in order, and he couldn’t help but sneer.

He didn’t let go of Mac, even though he felt like he ought to. His heart lubbed and dubbed again. Weird, he felt weird. He wished they were back at the apartment right about now, or anywhere where strangers couldn’t ogle him.

A passing thought came out as a spoken sentence. “Hey, do you think in the grand scheme of things… anything you do matters?” He knew that Mac couldn’t give him an answer to this demanding question, especially not when he was dumber than usual, nor would he know what led him to ask it, but he still couldn’t keep the concern from spilling out of him.

Apparently he had told a joke, because Mac was snickering at him. He tensed up in laughter, bringing them closer together, and clasped onto his arm with his free hand while trying to keep it together, “Dude. How the hell should I know? Like, do any of us matter?” They made eye contact. Dennis still looked worried, so Mac laughed again. “Oh, c’mon! Who am I, Socksateez?”

Charlie’s face was suddenly extremely close. He stood a literal two inches from them, breathing heavily. It smelled like the inside of a dirty bong. “‘Sup with you guys?” he whispered. He leaned back, checked his watch-less wrist, and whipped his head left, right, then back at them. “Movie’s in four minutes. Is Dennis getting all weird and philosophical?”

They answered at the same time.

“I’m chill.”

“Yes.”

Charlie relaxed his stance, switched his gaze between them, and sighed. “Well don’t. Hm? The vibes?”

“Vibes, Dennis.”

“Goddammit,” he griped, not knowing exactly who he was goddamming.

The lobby was big and bright and normal, so he didn’t let go of Mac.

People were gonna notice how weird he was, just like Charlie did.

This was so unlike him, his panicky insides ruling his outsides. He centered his breath, and promised himself again that he wouldn’t fuck this up for everyone. If he’s old, fine. Just means he should be able to handle his shit.

Though, he did wonder how many people knew he was a freak. Like, was it his first impression, or did people have to get to know him a little bit first to know that he was absolutely insane?

Since there was just one employee at this late hour, waiting in line for popcorn only took about three weeks. Mac tried talking to Dennis about snacks, about outer space, and about Charlie, but he pretended that he was too high to talk back. It was true, in a way, he did feel thoroughly stoned and pinned to the spot, and if he wasn’t connected to Mac, he’d probably dissolve. He focused on studying the tacky carpet above all else.

Then, a voice from behind. “Woah, is that dirtgrub?!”

His heart just about shot out of his chest. Mac let go of him.

Brad Fischer. Acne guy. Because, of course.

Charlie wasn’t afraid of him. “Hey! What’s up, dude?! How ya been?! But I gotta say, I don’t identify like that anymore, bro, so Charlie is gonna be just fine, thank you.”

They smelled bad. They looked bad. The past came to demolish what little vibes he had left, in the form of a terrifying run-in with some asshole from high school.

“And is that Ronnie the Rat? Hey, you look good, man!”

Mac hit a karate pose, since he was stupid as hell. “No. It’s Mac. And yeah. I’m not fat anymore. By the way, I’m gay now.”

Dennis wanted to scream. He didn’t fucking ask.

“Yeah, man, I can see that.”

He desperately hoped he was talking about the fat thing.

“Dennis, you’re oddly quiet over there. What? No hello from the Golden God? Am I not worthy?”

He closed his eyes, wishing he never had to open them again. He didn’t feel in control of his body as it turned around to shove his face into the music.

He had a girlfriend with him. A wife, probably, it was more normal to have a wife at this age. Dennis pointed his eyes above Brad’s head, mainly so that they wouldn’t sink halfway closed, but also so he couldn’t compare himself to him. Even though the lights above were as bright as an angel’s asshole and the proverbial walls were closing in, he managed to shit out a word.

“Hello.”

That was about all he was capable of, as he was currently being seized by a lifetime of regrets.

There was an insufferable pause. Mac held his stupid stance, and Charlie was probably glaring at them. Brad stared, but Dennis wouldn’t let himself glance at his expression, no matter how much he wanted to. It felt like they’d been standing there for an excruciating decade when his wife shifted her weight in discomfort.

Following Dennis’ line of sight, Brad glanced up and behind him in curiosity. Once he saw that there was nothing there, he shrugged. “Man, you three…” he trailed off. His tone was about as judgemental as it gets. “Take it easy.” He took his beautiful wife and ambled off without another word.

Lub, dub, death.

Dennis stood frozen with his mouth open, a sinking dread coursing through his veins. The world thumped like a bass drum. A boulder sat teetering on the edge of a cliff. He still cared about what the people he went to high school with thought of him, and as high as he was, he couldn’t keep the question at bay—why? That wasn’t supposed to matter at this age, was it?

“Ah, what an asshole, huh?” said Mac.

Charlie laughed, “Duuuude.”

Dennis turned back around, feeling like a ghost of himself. “So. He knows we’re high as fuck, yeah?” he murmured so strangers around him wouldn’t hear.

Well, Charlie and Mac sure pulled it off alright, he was feeling like a pathetic, loser teenager. Some dirt crumbled away.

“Uh, yeah,” Charlie kept fucking laughing, the shrill sound hammering its way into Dennis’ skull. “And he probably thinks you guys are like,” he bobbed his head like a chicken, “together.”

This glimpse of him was so far from the image he used to work so hard to cultivate. Adrenaline mixed with THC was certainly a concoction. His whole body was a buzzer. Panic contained itself to his fingers for now, dancing jittery and twitchy by his side.

Mac forced out a loud laugh, “Ha!” and tried to make stern eye contact with Dennis, but his eyes were glazed over, glued to behind the snack bar. “Dennis, he’s joking. Plenty of friends hold hands.”

He didn’t protest when Mac grabbed onto him again. Gravity pulled his heart heavy. The ground was giving way.

Cocking his head, he asked them plainly, “Do you think Brad Fischer is happy, though?”

“No,” Mac said instantly.

“Who cares?” said Charlie.

“Yeah, who cares,” he echoed, his voice coming out more like a breath.

Dennis gaped at the popcorn machine, a mountain’s worth of missed opportunities whacking him over the head. He was directionless, otherwise he wouldn’t have ended up here, 43, ugly, single, broke, and high, still hanging out with his loser friends that he’d had his whole life.

Popcorn at the movies was so yellow. He should have let himself eat more carbs.

“You okay, Dennis?”

His stare was on Mac, now, but it didn’t help. He looked so stoned and clueless—he wasn't getting it. His breath got ragged as the thoughts poured in and the boulder started to slip. This was his forever, he was looking right at it, and with how much he drinks, he’s probably closer to the end than the beginning.

Unable to stop the flow of time, unable to change who he was, he sucked a gasp as the rock came loose and tumbled down the chasm. It weighed about two tons, and the supporting ground had been so dry and dead—he was powerless to it.

His heart vibrating, his legs numb, he hastily turned it into anger. “You should have told him to get fucked, Mac,” he panted, the words barely making it out of his throat.

Trying to solve the puzzle, Mac’s eyes disappeared into a squint, “Okay…”

“Vibes,” Charlie sternly reminded them.

Mac dug in his pocket for some cash and shoved it in Charlie’s hand. “Dude, just get the snacks, we’ll save you a seat.”

The Golden God literally needed a babysitter.

He yanked his hand away and asserted again, the words hot on his lips, “This is stupid.” He whirled around so he could escape to the theaters before he properly lost it. His vision swirled again, so he looked at the floor.

The carpet was a colorful, dirty treadmill. The lights were cameras, people's eyes were cameras. He passed Brad Fischer and his ugly girlfriend again. Maybe all those anti-reefer campaigns from the 60s were right, because it took a lot of self control for him not to give ripping someone’s throat out a try. He’s always wanted to do that, after all, and he was feeling pretty impulsive all of a sudden.

He was face to face with a gangly teenager, acne-prone, just like Dennis was at his age. He still gets it sometimes, actually, right on his face. Rare, but it happens! Isn’t that just something?

Fuck, Mac had the tickets.

The teenager blinked at him. Yeah, it was definitely his first impression that did it. He must’ve looked fresh off the set of a horror movie, what with the frantic expression and the heavy breathing.

It was quite a dramatic breath that he sucked in, the exhale being even louder. Cheeks throbbing, eyes watering, he pivoted to haul his high ass to the bathroom.

His heartbeat was in his ears, bratty and deafening.

All he wanted was some good vibes, and not even that many, just a couple would have been fine. Now here he was, hiding out so he wouldn’t infect his friends with his freak-out.

Getting caught in the mirror was inevitable. Who was that guy sulking back? And what was his goddamn problem? He allowed himself three hitched breaths and one short sob. He looked like an aged, worn out fish gulping for air.

Shaking, he looked up and swept a couple fingers under his eyes to dry them. He counted the lines again to try to calm himself down. Then he looked for zits. He tried rubbing away the redness from the weed, but that just made it worse, so basically, there was nothing he could fix—he couldn’t fix a single thing. Can’t go back, can’t make time slower.

His breath short, he stepped back to take himself in one more time.

Every day, he’s gonna keep getting uglier. If he’d accomplished something by now, his appearance wouldn’t have this much power. He gasped as a spike went through his chest.

He let out a loud yelp when the door burst open. Mac was already smothering him, his big strong arms feeling like a cage around him.

“I’m sorry,” he frantically blubbered, “Charlie’s a dumbass. I’m here, I’m here. I got you.”

Dennis could melt into a proper weep, now. It started as a wavering whimper, then broke into choppy, uneven, rolling heaves. He sounded like he was dying, but that’s only because he felt like he was dying. It was cathartic and ugly and humiliating all at the same time, but it didn’t matter how he felt about it, because it desperately needed to happen.

Emotions were hard to wrangle, so he didn’t try. The weight of all his mistakes pressed down on him all at once. God, he’d ruined so many lives, but he was pretty much only heartbroken over his own shitty life. He had never been who he thought he was, and it was certainly too late to try now.

His eyes clicked with the ghost in the mirror again. It looked small and rigid and red, barely visible behind Mac, who was a mountain, warm to the touch. He brought his arms up to clutch the back of his shirt.

“You’re so beautiful, Dennis, you always will be.”

He cried harder. Then he cried harder still, because he sounded like a moose. He looked like a moose, too.

Mac gasped and put his fingers through his hair, “You _don’t_ look like a moose. Brad Fischer looks like a pizza, how about that? An old, rotten pizza. Deep dish, too.” He squeezed him with his whole body. “Nobody really likes deep dish.”

Dennis wiped some snot onto Mac’s shoulder, since he knew he wouldn’t mind, and squeaked, “Yeah.”

They swayed there for a second as Mac tried to hug all the bad away. He asked, his tone descending in lament, “Do you think they sell pizza here?”

He could let out a breath now, and it was a good one. Some of the shit escaped with it. He buried his face into him and whined, “God, Mac, I’m so hungry.”

Telepathy was handy one more time. Mac knew just how long to hold onto him for. When he finally pulled away, Dennis’ face felt heavy and wet and fuzzy and achy. Not a cute look.

Mac cradled both his hands in his own, looking at him with nothing but love in his eyes.

Dennis was looking at his forever, and he was so relieved.

“You’re a drama queen, you know that?”

He rubbed an eye with the back of his wrist and scoffed, but he knew he didn’t really mean it.

“You know it’s just the weed,” he snapped, then quickly added, “Shut up.” He clicked eyes with the mirror one more time, and had to keep from cracking a smile at how pathetic he looked.

“This was stupid as fuck,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> EPILOGUE
> 
> okay so dennis and mac get to the theater right and charlie's like wth yall dennis youre a miserable slut, huh? and dennis is like yeah and then charlie lights another joint cuz hes like here this'll cheer you up. and mac is like NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO ILLEGAL lmao but dennis just lets it happen cuz hes dead inside LOL oh but he eats popcorn :) 
> 
> END


End file.
